


Crown's Gamble

by Westbrook



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westbrook/pseuds/Westbrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ned Stark sets aside honor, plays it smart, and many things change. But still more stay the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stark Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Ned's always been one of my favorites, and this is written mainly in response to his death, while also exploring what would have happened if he lived. 
> 
> Reviews and comments are always appreciated! I'll do my best to respond with promptness and thoroughness. 
> 
> Finally, this is my first work, so please be gentle!

“Sometimes the gods are merciful.”  
“The Lannisters are not.”  
  
Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and younger brother of King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, turns away from Eddard Stark, Hand of the King, Lord Protector of the Realm and Lord of Winterfell. Renly's words hang in the air, like smoke scented with treason and death as the younger man starts to walk away. Ned paused-the weight of seven kingdoms was on him in that moment, the weight of his honor, bending his head as if they were iron chains around his neck. His eyes closed as he thought. His next action would decide the fate of so many lives. His duties as Hand, as Robert’s friend, as Lord of Winterfell, as Cat’s husband and the children’s father-All weighed on him.  
  
What should I do? Ned asked himself. But there was no answer, no trusted voice to offer him counsel, none of his gods or his wife’s had heard him-  
A memory from just a short while ago, himself speaking to Arya in her rooms in this accursed castle, stating that sometimes a small lie has honor.  
 _Promise me, Ned_. A whisper from the past, a pale hand holding withered blue roses, grey eyes dimming, a memory of her laughter and her love. _Promise me._  
  
Ned Stark had once fought a war to bring his sister home, to avenge his brother and father. It was easier there, he reflected-You knew who your enemies were. Here in this foul stinking court, it was much harder to tell. But suddenly Ned knew that putting Joffrey Baratheon-or to be specific, Ned now knew, Joffrey  Lannister-on the throne was a terrible idea, knew it in his bones. From every interaction he'd had with the young prince, Ned found him to be a spoiled, arrogant child, one whose whims ended up with people getting killed. With Cersei, who Ned was convinced had killed Robert, whispering in his ear, with Tywin and Jaime Lannister certain to come to court, with no restrictions on his power, Joffrey would become even worse.  
 _Worse even than Aerys _, Ned thought and shuddered, for Aerys II Targaryen had been the thing of nightmares. Without limits, who knew what Joffrey would become? A voice whispered in his mind, sounding so much like Cat that Ned's heart ached- _And this is the kind of boy Sansa is to be wed to?  
Ned thinks. Stannis is....if not a good man, then at least a just one. He will be a better king than Joffrey ever will, no matter what he does, and he is the legitimate heir besides. Fulfill this duty, and Stannis will most likely release him to go home to Winterfell, to his children, to Cat.  
  
It is the last thought that decides Ned Stark. The words emerge from his lips, words that will damn him, if only in the depths of his own mind. “Renly, wait!”  
  
The youngest Baratheon pauses, the muscles in his neck clenching with his fists, before he half-turns, impatience written clearly on his handsome face. “What is it, my lord Hand?” he asks, the scorn evident.  
Ned limps closer leaning heavily on his cane to stare at Renly, who impatiently awaiting his next word. He leaned into the younger man and murmured “Do you truly have a hundred swords?”  
Renly’s head snaps back, blue eyes widening in shock, before he nods, stating quietly, “That, and my own sword, and that of Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. If you were to join your own forces, that should be more than enough to do what must be done.”  
“Dragging children scared from their beds, murdering good men for nothing more than being in the way of a mad queen's ambition and crimes,” Ned growled. Renly frowned, doubt clear in his voice as he stated “Lord Eddard, what is your intent? Will we move or not?”  
Ned paused. His next words would have repercussions that would affect the realm for generations.  
  
“We move. You have an hour and a half to gather your hundred swords, and I will alert my guardsmen. Joffrey is the goal, but we must have at least Tommen and Myrcella in order to secure our position. I want no harm to come them whatsoever, understand?”  
Renly nodded. “What of Cersei, and the Lannister guards? They won’t surrender easily, and there’s the Kingsguard to deal with.”  
Ned paused for a moment, considering. “I will speak to Barristan Selmy, try to convince him of the justness of our cause.”  
Renly raised his eyebrows in shock. “Will he believe you? Ser Barristan is old, but he is not feeble, and he is a man of conviction. After seeing Robert and Aerys die, he will be loathe to hand over a third King, even one like Joffrey.”  
Ned nodded. “I know. But it is not my wish that the Kingsguard be killed unless necessary.”  
“At least two of them are Cersei’s creatures,” Renly warned. “Blount,” Ned glanced at the short, barrel-shaped man at the end of the bridge, “and Trant were both appointed due to Cersei’s influence, and Mandon Moore is very likely on her side as well.” “What of Arys Oakheart and Preston Greenfield?” “Oakheart appears to be genuinely loyal in his vows, and Greenfield is an adequate knight, but I do not know his loyalties. If Selmy orders it, they will surrender, if not, they will fight. Selmy will be the key-If you can convince him to support you, though I do not know how, we may still have a chance.”  
Ned nodded briefly, considering. “What of Joffrey’s guard, the Hound Sandor Clegane?” Renly grimaced again. “I would not like to kill him, but I think you will have to. Clegane is sworn to the Lannisters through and through. I doubt there is a thing that you can use to convince him to join you, unless you offer him his brother’s head and a sword to cut through that monstrous neck.”  
Ned nodded again, as Renly asked, “What of Cersei herself?” Ned shook his head. “I gave the Queen her opportunity, and it appears that she has denied it. If she reveals herself, seize her. If not, leave her well alone. Either way, I do not want her harmed.”  
Renly murmured his assent. Ned glanced at the sky, before turning back to the younger man, who in that moment so reminded Ned of Robert in his looks. “Gather your swords Lord Renly, do it quietly and fast. Meet me alone in my quarters in one hour, and then we will move.”  
Renly nodded, and swiftly moved away as Ned limped off, his honor dragging behind him, to do treason in the name of rightness and a dead king.___


	2. Discussions in the Tower of the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ned Stark makes plans for the future, descends deeper into the murk, and trusts a man he shouldn't-Or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a very talk-focused chapter, my apologies for that. The action will be next chapter, but I had a lot I wanted to set up. 
> 
> Certain sections of dialogue are copied directly from _A Game of Thrones_.
> 
> Italics without quotation marks are POV character thoughts, just to make that clear.
> 
> Feedback, reviews and comments are always appreciated! I will make every effort to respond in a prompt and thorough manner.

**Eddard**

Ned limped to the Tower of the Hand, his guards surrounding him. They sensed the tension in the air, and knew well that their fellows had been killed due to the Lannisters.  
 _And now we are surrounded by Lannisters_ , Ned thought wryly. _Dumped into the lion’s den and the snakepit at the same time, with a brazen boy as possibly my only true ally and shifting loyalties on all sides._

Ned limped up to his rooms, and summoned Vayon Poole and Fat Tom, his new captain of the guards, sitting heavily in his chair as his leg cramped with pain, his head bowed, thoughts racing. _Arya had the truth of it, what she told me earlier, of the conversation she overheard-“One Hand can be removed as easily as the other.” I’ll have to ask her about that later, see if she can remember anything more accurately. And Sansa gave me the final piece to confirm that Joffrey was not Robert’s son, that none of them are. From the mouths of babes shall come truth indeed._  
Ned would have to thank his daughters for that some day.

When the two men stepped into the room, along with Cayn, Ned looked up wearily. “Vayon, I need you to bring my daughters to me, and send for Ser Barristan Selmy.”  
As the steward stepped out of the room with a respectful nod, Ned looked to his guardsmen. “We will be expecting guests shortly, including Renly Baratheon and a number of other nobles. Make as much effort possible to ensure that they are not seen. In addition, I want Littlefinger. If he’s not in his chambers, take as many men as you need and search every winesink and whorehouse in King’s Landing until you find him. Bring him to me before break of day, but under no circumstances is he to see that Ser Barristan or any of the others are here.” Ned was under no illusions as to Cersei’s desire for the throne. If it came to a fight, he would rather have more swords than fewer.  
Cayn nodded and departed, as Ned turned to Tomard. “The _Wind Witch_ is ready to sail on the evening tide? Have you chosen the escort?” “Ten men m’lord, with Porther in command.” “You will make it twenty, and command yourself. You will also go to Captain Qos, and ask if he can be ready to sail earlier.”  
Fat Tom scratched his head. “How much earlier, m’lord?”  
“If he is able, with the morning tide.” Fat Tom gawped at Ned. “He won’t like that, m’lord, not at all.” “Tell him that if he does sail on the morn, there will be additional gold for him, but I want you all out of King’s Landing at the earliest possible opportunity.” If it would come down to steel and blood, Ned wanted his daughters back home as quickly as possible. “Whenever you leave, you will pass near Dragonstone when you turn north. I need you to deliver a letter for me.”  
“To Dragonstone, m’lord?” Tom looked apprehensive. The island fortress of House Targaryen had a sinister reputation, and Stannis’ own fearsome legend had not made the place any more hospitable.  
“Tell Captain Qos to hoist my banner as soon as he comes in sight of the island. They may be wary of unexpected visitors. If he is reluctant, offer him whatever it takes. I will give you a letter to place into the hand of Lord Stannis Baratheon. No one else. Not his steward, nor the captain of his guard, nor his lady wife, but only Lord Stannis himself.”  
“As you command, m’lord. I’ll go to Captain Qos right away.”  
When Tomard left him, Lord Eddard Stark sat staring at the flame of the candle that burned beside him on the table. A moment later, a knock came at the door. “It’s Vayon, with your lady daughters.” “Bring them in, and please wait outside.” 

Sansa and Arya were both pale with sleep and slightly rumpled, though Arya of course was much more so than Sansa. His youngest daughter let out a large yawn which she attempted to cover with little success. Sansa, meanwhile, looked nervous. “What’s happened father?” she asked, ever polite.  
“Things have changed. I need you both to get packed as soon as possible-Focus on the essentials, things that you simply cannot leave behind. You may need to leave in a hurry, and I will not have you forgetting anything.”  
Sansa and Arya stared at their father, Sansa in horror, Arya in bewilderment. “Father, has something happened?” Arya asked, but before Ned could reply Sansa burst out. “No you can’t! I told you, I’m meant to marry Joffrey and be Queen, and bear him children -” “Enough, Sansa!” Ned’s voice was sharp with command, and his daughters both looked at him with shock. Ned had never spoken to them that way before. “I am aware of what was supposed to happen, and as you have said, you were meant to marry Joffrey. That is no longer the case. You and your sister will be returning to Winterfell, via a ship and White Harbor. The kingsroad is not safe these days. Arya, you will be pleased to know that Syrio Forel has agreed to enter my service and return to the North with you.” Even as Arya brightened, Sansa’s face darkened and twisted with rage, a most unpleasant look on her fair features. “Why does she get to have her stupid dancing master, but I don’t get what I want? Arya ruins everything, and I have to pay for it! She’s the reason Lady’s dead, and now she gets to have what she wants again while I have to go back and be trapped back at Winterfell! It’s not fair!” Sansa whirled away from her father before whirling back. “I will go to the Queen right now, and tell her that you’re trying to take me away from his son!” “Sansa Stark, you will stop right there!”  
Ned Stark’s voice came with the icy whipcrack of an order, and Sansa paused. “You will go nowhere but to your room to pack, and prepare to return home. You will do no such thing as going to the Queen, and if you say you will, or try to, I will have you clapped in irons, and loaded onto the ship. **Do you understand me**?” Sansa was staring at him with fear in her beautiful blue eyes, her mother’s eyes, and tears were flowing freely from them. Even Arya was regarding her father with some trepidation.

Ned sighed, and called for Vayon. When the steward stepped into the room with a “M’lord?” Ned gave him orders. “Wake Septa Mordane, with my apologies. She and a guard are to ensure that Sansa is packed and ready to go. They will accompany her at all times, even if she goes to the bathroom, until she is safe on the ship, and under no circumstances are they to permit her to visit with the Queen, Prince Joffrey or any of their advisors or in fact let her out of their sight. After that, please send word to Master Syrio Forel with my seal, and ask him to be ready to sail with alacrity.”  
Sansa stared at him with horror, as if he were a stranger and not her father. “You can’t do this,” she whispered faintly. “I can and I am. This is for your own good, Sansa. Hopefully one day you will understand that.” Ned told her sternly. Sansa stared at him for another moment, before screaming **“I. HATE. YOU!”** at the top of her lungs and running back to her rooms sobbing freely and loudly. 

His daughter’s words hit Ned like a slap, and he felt himself rocking back, but he still had the mind to order Poole to ensure that Sansa was in her rooms and to carry out his orders. He closed his eyes for merely a moment, before opening them to find that Arya was standing quietly in front of him. “Are we in trouble, Father?” “If we aren’t yet Arya, we will be soon.” Arya nodded quietly before surprising Ned by stepping into him and wrapping her arms around him. Ned hugged his daughter in return, and father and daughter simply held each for a moment, a small touchstone in the swirling darkness.  
Arya pulled back to look into her father’s eyes. “I’ll get ready, and make sure that Sansa doesn’t do anything stupid if you want me to.” “That would be a great help to me Arya.” Arya nodded and pulled away from Ned, looking back for a moment. “If people would come to get us, I would fight them.” Her words, being delivered so seriously from a ten-year old mouth, with her grey eyes shining fiercely in the firelight-In that moment, his daughter looked and sounded so much like Lyanna that Ned felt his heart break. “I know you would my little wolf. But if all goes to plan, you won’t have to fight. Now, go and get packed, and watch out for your sister.” Arya nodded, and vanished up the stairs. Almost immediately afterwards, a Stark guardsman knocked on the door, stating, “Ser Barristan Selmy is here to see you my Lord.”  
“Send him in right away, if you would.” The guardsman nodded, and Ned was given a few moments of silence in which to contemplate the best method to convince a brave knight to surrender his charges and give up his vows. _Ser Barristan is an honorable man_ , Ned thought. _Like myself-  
Or like the man I used to be_ , another, more insidious thought strayed into his head. Ned shook it aside, knowing that a direct approach would be best in this instance. 

As Ser Barristan stepped in, his white armor and cloak glowing in the dimness, Ned was struck with a reminder of the last Kingsguard commander he had known, Ser Gerold Hightower. The White Bull had been a large man, compared to Selmy’s more slender appearance, clean-shaved as to Selmy's long white strands, but both carried themselves with a sense of command and purpose.  
 _A purpose I must now ruin_ , Ned thought, melancholy. _This game of thrones destroys men from the inside more than it ever does the outside._

Selmy was direct his in opening statement.  
“I am loathe to be away from King Robert in his final hours, my Lord Hand, and when he dies I must attend to the new King. Why have you summoned me?”  
“Ser Barristan, Prince Joffrey is not the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Lord Stannis Baratheon is, and tonight I intend to take the Princes and Princess into my custody, and place Lord Stannis upon the throne.”  
You could not be more blunt than that, and Selmy was clearly shocked. His blue eyes searched Ned’s for any trace of deception, and finding none, the old knight’s face went flat, and his hand slid to his sword. Ned saw this and tensed-Even at an advanced age, in a fair fight Ned knew that defeating Barristan Selmy would not be easy. But now, with an injured leg, he knew that he would not have a chance if the Lord Commander decided to strike.  
“If it were any other man stating this, I would laugh and call it a jest. But when Eddard Stark sits in the Tower of the Hand and says this, I finding myself wanting to both believe him and cut his throat.” Selmy’s eyes were ice. “Why do you plan to do this?”

Ned swallowed lightly-This would be a critical moment. “Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella, and Prince Tommen are all not the children of Robert Baratheon. They are the children of Cersei Lannister and her brother Jaime Lannister by incest.”  
Most men would have dropped into a chair with shock, would have sworn, reacted vigorously. The only emotion showed by the old knight was a flash in his blue eyes, a resetting of his jaw, and a brief clench of his hand on the hilt of his sword. Then, nothing.  
Intuition, never Ned Stark’s closest friend, struck like a lightning bolt. “You knew?”  
Selmy leaned back. “No. I had…..doubts, suspicions. I have traveled with Robert, and heard the report of the others, of how he acts with women, the tales of his baseborn children. I have seen how Jaime Lannister acts around his sister, and how often he alone guards her. The Lannisters are arrogant enough, to think that they could act as the Targaryens, so…the possibility occurred to me.”  
Ned was incredulous. “And you said nothing.”  
Selmy’s gaze hardened. “As I said Lord Stark, I had suspicions, nothing more. And what proof do you have?”  
“Robert’s bastards, all of whom have the look of him and not of their mothers. A history of the great families of the realm, showing that whenever a Baratheon marries a Lannister, they have the Baratheon hair, eyes, other features. And word from Cersei Lannister’s own mouth.”  
Selmy’s eyes snapped to his at once upon hearing that. “She told you this?” Ned nodded. “In the godswood today. I also have reason to believe that she was behind the death of Jon Arryn, and that both Jon and Stannis Baratheon were beginning to suspect of the heritage of the children. That is why Jon Arryn died and Stannis fled to Dragonstone.”  
“What do you want Lord Stark?” Selmy’s voice was laced with suspicion and weariness.  
Ned gulped once. “As Joffrey is not the true King, I would ask that you and the other members of the Kingsguard lay down your swords and permit my men to take the children into my custody, where you have my sworn oath, upon my honor and that of my house that they will come to no harm. I intend to send for Stannis, and have him come to King’s Landing with all haste, to take up the throne. I ask that you lay down arms, Ser Barristan, and continue serving as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I have my suspicions that the Lannisters will cast you aside as soon as they are able, and you would be of much more use to the realm in your continuing position.”  
Ser Barristan Selmy gazed at Eddard Stark with eyes that had seen near 60 years of service to the realm in the name of duty. “I once thought you were a man of honor Stark, save for a single instance. You are the last man I would suspect to speak of throwing things away when they are not useful, and yet to my mind, you seem the first. This is not the behavior of a honorable man.”  
“What act do you refer to, Ser Barristan?” Ned inquired harshly.  
Barristan the Bold’s eyes were filled with sadness and fury as they stared at Eddard Stark, and he said merely two words, a name: “Ashara Dayne.”

For Ned Stark, the world stopped for a brief moment. A hand as cold as the grave grasped his heart and squeezed, while a roaring filled his ears and his stomach churned. A memory struck him: Eyes the color of amethysts, a warm, rich laugh, dark hair perfumed with lilac and violet, underneath a scent of sun and sand and sea and wildness that was uniquely hers…

 _No, no, no, NO!_ Ned forced his mind away from those thoughts, back to here and now. _River blue eyes, copper red hair, a scent of rivers and the sun and incense from the sept, later add the pines and snows of home, duty and honor that grew to love and family, Cat, Cat, Cat, waiting at home, Winterfell and Cat and our children…  
Promise me, Ned. A room of blue and red, blue roses red blood black with bruises the both, white armor white skin splattered with scarlet, her voice, her love, Promise me…_

Ned wrenched himself back to the present, where Ser Barristan’s eyes were on him, judging, waiting for a response.  
Ned nearly snapped at the older man, but managed to hold his tongue. “I am an honorable man, Ser Barristan, acting in the most honorable way possible in this treacherous city. If you will listen, when this is over, I will tell you truly and fully of what occurred between Ashara Dayne and myself, if you are truly willing to hear. All I will say now is that I have never harmed Ashara, and did only what was demanded of me by duty and honor.  
But there are other matters now, Ser Barristan. Stannis Baratheon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and Joffrey the product of a mother hungry for power and her brother, a member of your order, who has forsaken his vows. I am trying to fulfill the dying wish of my friend and King, and to avoid unleashing on the realm a false boy King who would bring us all to ruin. For the realm, Ser Barristan, please, I beg you-Lay down your sword.”

There was an enormous pause, in which Barristan Selmy stared at the candle guttering on Ned’s desk. After what seemed an infinity, the elder knight heaved out a sigh that left him looking incomparably older. “It seems the game of thrones of which they all speak can change even Eddard Stark.” He paused for a moment, still staring at the candle. “You will speak true to me of what befell Ashara Dayne, and how you were involved?”  
Ned nodded once, slowly. “The truth as I know it, you will know it.” The younger man hesitated. “Did you…..love her?”  
Ser Barristan snorted once, and lowered his head further, to stare at the floor, shaking his head slowly, his voice thick with emotion, coming slowly “Love? No. I was….entranced by her, as so many were. And I knew it could come to naught: I was long past her age, and sworn to my vows of chastity and the King. But still…..For the Tournament at Harrenhal, had I won, I had planned to crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty, but I lost to Prince Rhaegar that day. That day your sister was crowned. I wonder often, if I had won…..Would it have changed anything? Could a war have been averted that day, if one girl had received a wreath of flowers and not another? It is perhaps my greatest regret, Ned Stark, and I will never know the answer.” 

There was a lump in Ned’s throat at the old knight’s retelling of his tale, and when Ser Barristan Selmy finally lifted his gaze from the floor, his eyes were filled with an old grief and a sudden, overwhelming tiredness. “The Kingsguard will stand aside, Lord Stark. Though how much my orders will be followed is unknown.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Three of my brothers are Lannister creatures through and through. Blount, Trant and Greenfield were all directly appointed by Cersei or with her influence. Jon Arryn brought Mandon Moore with him from the Vale when he came to court, so he might be loyal to my orders. But I do not know, and asking would only bring attention. The only one I could be sure of would be Arys Oakheart-He is a good knight and man, though perhaps too soft-hearted. The Kingslayer, of course,” and Selmy almost spits the name, “is gone to play war with his father’s army. I told Robert that he should strip Jaime Lannister of his cloak, that such a crime for a brother of the Kingsguard could not be tolerated. But he refused to hear my words, and when Queen Cersei herself learned of them….” The old warrior’s jaw clenched and released. He glanced at Ned, and nodded briefly. “I do as you wish, but I would be prepared for blood, my Lord Stark,” he said, before turning to walk away. 

“Ser Barristan,” Ned said after him. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard paused in the doorway. “Thank you,” Ned said. There was a flare in Selmy’s eyes, and he looked like he was about to say something venomous, until he sagged, the light going out of his eyes. “Don’t thank me Lord Stark-Not for this.” He turned to go, pausing at the door, before turning back to Ned. “We shouldn’t be here, doing this. I believe that you are a good and honorable man in truth Ned Stark.” Ned inclined his head at the honor. “I believe that you are a good and honorable man yourself, Ser Barristan Selmy, and a superb knight and warrior.”  
Selmy snorted, a soft, resigned sound. “That’s exactly what I mean Stark-We shouldn’t be here.” With that, the knight turned and departed-His back straight, but something in him now broken. 

Ned sat for a moment with his head in his hands. For a moment, his grief, his past, and the weight of the actions he was setting in motion weighed on him. He wanted nothing so much as to seek out the godswood, to kneel before the heart tree and pray, not only for the life of Robert Baratheon, who had been more than a brother to him, but for his own honor, for the lives he was sure would be taken, for the dark deeds performed in this stinking city. He knew that men would whisper afterward that Eddard Stark had betrayed his king’s friendship and disinherited his sons, he could only hope that the gods would know better, and that Robert would learn the truth of it in the land beyond the grave.  
Ned took out the king’s last letter. A roll of crisp white parchment sealed with golden wax, a few short words and a smear of blood. How small the difference between victory and defeat, between life and death.  
He drew out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his quill in the inkpot.  
 _To His Grace, Stannis of the House Baratheon_ , he wrote. _By the time you receive this letter, your brother Robert, our King these past fifteen years, will be dead. He was savaged by a boar whilst hunting in the kingswood…_  
Ned had only gotten that far when a knock came at the door. Cayn and Desmond entered, with Littlefinger between them. Ned thanked his guards and sent them away, while sliding his letter to Stannis into his desk-He did not want Littlefinger to be aware of it. This would be a dangerous encounter-While Catelyn vouched for Littlefinger, in this situation it would be unwise to offer anyone too much trust. _The man has always struck me as wrong, and besides, he himself told me not to trust him. Whether offered in seriousness or jest, I’ll heed those words._

Lord Petyr was clad in a blue velvet tunic with puffed sleeves, his silvery cape patterned with mockingbirds. "I suppose congratulations are in order," he said as he seated himself. Ned scowled. "The king lies wounded and near to death." "I know," Littlefinger said. "I also know that Robert has named you Protector of the Realm." Ned's eyes flicked to the king's letter on the table beside him, its seal unbroken. "And how is it you know that, my lord?"  
"Varys hinted as much," Littlefinger said, "and you have just confirmed it."  
Ned's mouth twisted in anger. "Damn Varys and his little birds. Catelyn spoke truly, the man has some black art. I do not trust him."  
"Excellent. You're learning." Littlefinger leaned forward. "Yet I'll wager you did not drag me here in the black of night to discuss the eunuch."  
"No," Ned admitted. "I know the secret Jon Arryn was murdered to protect. Robert will leave no trueborn son behind him. Joffrey and Tommen are Jaime Lannister's bastards, born of his incestuous union with the queen."  
Littlefinger lifted an eyebrow. "Shocking," he said in a tone that suggested he was not shocked at all."The girl as well? No doubt. So when the king dies . . ."  
"The throne by rights passes to Lord Stannis, the elder of Robert's two brothers."

Lord Petyr stroked his pointed beard as he considered the matter. "So it would seem. Unless . . ." " _Unless_ , my lord? There is no _seeming_ to this. Stannis is the heir. Nothing can change that." "Stannis cannot take the throne without your help. If you're wise, you'll make certain Joffrey succeeds." Ned gave him a stony stare. "Have you no shred of honor?"

"Oh, a _shred_ , surely," Littlefinger replied negligently. "Hear me out. Stannis is no friend of yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard and unyielding. He'll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt he'll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won't love you for it. And his ascent will mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are dead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter's head is measured for a spike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who served King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not have forgotten the siege of Storm's End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not. Every man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have good cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed".

"Now look at the other side of the coin. Joffrey is but twelve, and Robert gave _you_ the regency, my lord. You are the Hand of the King and Protector of the Realm. The power is yours, Lord Stark. All you need do is reach out and take it. Make your peace with the Lannisters. Release the Imp. Wed Joffrey to your Sansa. Wed your younger girl to Prince Tommen, and your heir to Myrcella. It will be four years before Joffrey comes of age. By then he will look to you as a second father, and if not, well . . . four years is a good long while, my lord. Long enough to dispose of Lord Stannis. Then, should Joffrey prove troublesome, we can reveal his little secret and put Lord Renly on the throne."  
 _"We?"_ Ned repeated.  
Littlefinger gave a shrug. "You'll need someone to share your burdens. I assure you, my price would be modest."

"Your price." Ned's voice was ice. "Lord Baelish, what you suggest is treason."  
"Only if we lose." "You forget," Ned told him. "You forget Jon Arryn. You forget Jory Cassel. And you forget this." He drew the dagger and laid it on the table between them; a length of dragonbone and Valyrian steel, as sharp as the difference between right and wrong, between true and false, between life and death. "They sent a man to _cut my son's throat_ , Lord Baelish." Littlefinger sighed. "I fear I did forget, my lord. Pray forgive me. For a moment I did not remember that I was talking to a Stark." His mouth quirked. "So it will be Stannis, and war?"  
"It is not a choice. Stannis is the heir."  
"Far be it from me to dispute the Lord Protector. What would you have of me, then? Not my wisdom, for a certainty."

"I shall do my best to forget your . . . wisdom," Ned said with distaste. "I called you here to ask for the help you promised Catelyn. This is a perilous hour for all of us. Robert has named me Protector, true enough, but in the eyes of the world, Joffrey is still his son and heir. The queen has a dozen knights and a hundred men-at-arms who will do whatever she commands . . . enough to overwhelm what remains of my own household guard. And for all I know, her brother Jaime may be riding for King's Landing even as we speak, with a Lannister host at his back."  
"And you without an army." Littlefinger toyed with the dagger on the table, turning it slowly with a finger. "There is small love lost between Lord Renly and the Lannisters. Bronze Yohn Royce, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Loras, Lady Tanda, the Redwyne twins . . . each of them has a retinue of knights and sworn swords here at court."

Ned knew that he would have to be most careful here, to avoid giving up his plan to take the children, a good deal of which would depend on some of those very same individuals.  
"Renly has thirty men in his personal guard, the rest even fewer. It is not enough, even if I could be certain that all of them will choose to give me their allegiance. I must have the gold cloaks. The City Watch is two thousand strong, sworn to defend the castle, the city, and the king's peace."

"Ah, but when the queen proclaims one king and the Hand another, whose peace do they protect?" Lord Petyr flicked at the dagger with his finger, setting it spinning in place. Round and round it went, wobbling as it turned. When at last it slowed to a stop, the blade pointed at Littlefinger. "Why, there's your answer," he said, smiling. "They follow the man who pays them." He leaned back and looked Ned full in the face, his grey-green eyes bright with mockery. "You wear your honor like a suit of armor, Stark. You think it keeps you safe, but all it does is weigh you down and make it hard for you to move. Look at you now. You know why you summoned me here. You know what you want to ask me to do. You know it has to be done . . . but it's not _honorable_ , so the words stick in your throat."

Ned's neck was rigid with tension. For a moment he was so angry that he did not trust himself to speak. But then his shoulders sagged, and his head slumped, and he merely nodded. _He is right, damn him. I was not meant for this game, and I fear it will come to destroy me._

Littlefinger laughed. "I ought to make you say it, but that would be cruel . . . so have no fear, my good lord. For the sake of the love I bear for Catelyn, I will go to Janos Slynt this very hour and make certain that the City Watch is yours. Six thousand gold pieces should do it. A third for the Commander, a third for the officers, a third for the men. We might be able to buy them for half that much, but I prefer not to take chances." Smiling, he plucked up the dagger and offered it to Ned, hilt first.

Hesitantly, Ned Stark reached out and took the dagger. Baelish rose gracefully to his feet, gave Ned a slight, mocking bow, and departed, his mockingbird cape fluttering behind him, closing the door as he went. Ned watched the door for a brief moment, before returning his attention to his letter to Stannis. The letters seemed to writhe and twist on the paper as his hand trailed to a stop. Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime were not men to suffer disgrace meekly; they would rather fight than flee. No doubt Lord Stannis- _King_ Stannis, now, Ned supposed-was wary, after the murder of Jon Arryn, but it was imperative that he sail for King’s Landing at once with all his power, before the Lannisters could march.  
Ned chose each word with care. When he was done, he signed the letter _Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, and Protector of the Realm,_ blotted the paper, folded it twice, and melted the sealing wax over the candle flame. 

Cayn returned as Ned was pressing the direwolf seal down into the soft white wax, with Fat Tom in tow. “Lord Renly is here m'lord, with some others awaiting at the bottom of the Tower.” “Were you seen?” Cayn shook his head. “Not so much as I could tell m’lord.” “Good. Bring the others into the Tower, and bring Lord Renly to see me at once.” As Cayn bowed and left, Ned turned to Tom. “Did you reach Captain Qos?” “I did m’lord, and though he isn’t pleased about it, he said that he will be ready to sail on the morning tide, though he might be a bit shorthanded due to the sailors being in the drink and whores. And he said I was to tell you that his price had risen considerably for this little expedition.” “Good. If I do not return, you will take my daughters and anyone else, get to the _Wind Witch_ , and set sail. Do whatever you must to get there. The letter I require you to deliver is in here; aside from the protection of my daughters, it will be your foremost task to ensure that it goes to Lord Stannis himself. When we depart, no one is allowed in or out of the Tower without my leave, is that understood?”  
Tom nodded. There was a rush of noise on the stair, and Cayn reentered, with Renly trailing close behind.  
The youngest Baratheon wore a large, plain dark cloak over his forest-green armor, with sword and dagger strapped to his belt. Gloves and gauntlets covered his arms, and his helm, antlered in gold, rested in his arms, face flushed and eyes bright with excitement.  
“Is all ready Lord Stark?” Ned nodded grimly, reaching down to grasp Ice and sling it over his left shoulder, while grasping his cane in his right. Renly blinked at seeing that, those blue Baratheon eyes filling with confusion. “What are you doing my Lord?” “Going with you Lord Renly-This ill venture is my work, and my honor is at stake. Though I may need someone to carry me, I mean to see this out.”  
Lord Eddard Stark gestured at the door. “Let us go and do this.”


End file.
